The Wild West was a place of survival, even among humble dwellings. Alastor was a known outlaw, most knowing as the Radio Ranger. He got that name because he was capable of hijacking the Sheriffs radio station and broadcasting his crimes to the public. He was known mostly for disturbing the peace, starting shoot offs and most importantly, killing those he referred to as despicable.

And you were royalty. Yes, a refined, elegant, dainty royal. Even though you were, you would often go to this bar in this town. It was a little rugged, a hole in the wall, but it had good drinks. You'd often go there to drink, either with friends or alone.

At that bar, you met Alastor. Alastor was, as mentioned, an outlaw. But, he wasn't a bad man. He wasn't the worst you'd met anyways. You both drank together sometimes, especially when you were alone. One time, you surprised him by wrapping your arms around his neck loosely from behind, when he didn't know you were there. You both had a nice friendship. He didn't know you were royalty, and you intended to keep it that way. Alastor loathed royalty.

Then, he got captured. Jumped and captured by your father's men. Of course you didn't know, if you did, you would've stopped it. You would've stopped what happened next.

For context, there was this fighting ring, an arena. It was in a circle shape, a large one enough to move and maneuver quickly. Then, there were rows of seats above it, for civilians to watch the fight. For the royalty, there was a balcony just for you and your father, to watch. Your mother didn't much participate, she thought it was cruel, and corrupt. You thought the same, but it's the only time you could bond with your narcissist of a father.

Today, you were watching the fight. Between a man that's won three rounds, and one that just got here. Little did you know, Alastor was the new guy. And he was here to fight.